TO THE KING, AN ODE ON His Majesty's ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, 1695. By Mr. PRIOR.  
Quis desiderio sit pudor aut Modus  
Tam Chari capitis?  Hor. 
LONDON, Printed for jacob Tonson at the Iudge's-Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet. 1695.   

TO THE KING, AN ODE, etc.  

ON MARY's Tomb, through rolling Years,  
The Mournful Graces all shall weep;  
And, with fresh Lamps and flowing Tears,  
The Virtues endless Vigils Keep.   

For MARY distant Lands shall Mourn  
When late Records Her Deeds relate,  
Ages to come, and Men unborn,  
Shall Bless Her Name, and Sigh Her Fate.   

Fair ALBION shall with watchful Trust,  
Her Holy QUEEN's sad Relics guard,  
Till Heaven awakes the precious Dust,  
To clothe it in its full Reward.   

But let the KING forsake his Woes,  
Reflecting on his fair Renown;  
And take the Cypress from his Brows,  
To put his wont Laurels on.   

The Lovely Dead, whom He regrets,  
Can know no Fear, can feel no Grief:  
The living World, whom He forgets,  
Would perish without His Relief.   

In vain the British Lions roar,  
While pressed by Grief their MONARCH stoops;  
The Belgic Darts will wound no more,  
If He, whose Hand sustained them, droops:   

Embattled Princes wait their Chief,  
Whose Voice should rule, whose Arm should lead;  
And, in Kind Murmurs, chide that Grief  
Which hinders EUROPE's being freed.   

The great Example they demand  
Who still to Conquest led the Way,  
And wish Him present to command,  
As They stand ready to obey.   

They seek that Joy which used to glow  
Expanded on the HERO's Face,  
When the thick Squadrons pressed the Foe,  
And WILLIAM led the glorious Chase.   

Oh! give the Mourning Nations Joy,  
Break forth, great Sun, with usual Light:  
And let thy stronger Beams destroy  
Those Clouds, which keep Thee from our sight.   

Advance in thy Meridian Course,  
And, since thy MARY's Light is gone,  
Rejoice the World with double Force,  
Thy Beams all fixed in Thee alone.   

See, pious KING, with different strife  
Thy struggling ALBION's Bosom torn;  
So much She fears for WILLIAM's Life,  
That MARY's Fate she dare not mourn.   

Her fair Delight, Her so●ter Half,  
Cold in the Grave with MARY lies,  
Unless in Thee her strength is safe,  
The frighted Nation wholly dies.   

Thou, Guardian Angel, save our Land▪  
From Thy own Grief, her fiercest foe;  
Lest, raised and rescued by thy Hand,  
She bend and sink beneath thy Woe.   

Her former Triumphs all are vain,  
Unless new Trophies still be sought;  
And hoary Majesty sustain  
The Battles which thy youth has fought.   

Where now is BRITAIN's fearful Love,  
Which made Her hate the War's alarms?  
Where that Excess with which She strove  
To keep her HERO in her Arms?   

While still She chid the coming Spring,  
Which called Thee o'er thy subject Seas,  
Whilst, for the Safety of the KING,  
She wished the VICTOR's Glory less?   

'Tis gone, 'tis changed; sad BRITAIN now  
Hastens her LORD to Foreign Wars:  
Happy if Toils may break his Woe,  
Or Danger may divert his Cares.   

In Martial sounds She drowns her Sighs,  
Lest He the rising Grief should hear▪  
She pulls her Helmet o'er her Eyes,  
Lest He should see the falling Tear.   

Go, Mighty Prince▪ let FRANCE be taught  
How constant Minds by grief are tried,  
How great the Land, that wept and fought,  
When WILLIAM l●d, and MARY died.   

Fierce in the Battle make it Known,  
Where Death with all her Darts is seen,  
That she could strike▪ Thy Heart with None,  
But that with which she struck the QUEEN.   

Thy Virtue, whose resistless force  
No dire Event could ever s●ay,  
Must carry on its de●●'d course,  
Tho' Death and 〈…〉 the way.   

Envy shall calm that useless Rage,  
By which Thy Glory brighter grows,  
And Death, Thy Sorrows to assuage,  
Shall turn her wrath, and wound Thy Foes.   

BELGIA indulged her open Grief,  
While yet her Master was not near,  
She hated Hope, She scorned Relief,  
And triumphed, Proud in full Despair.   

Her echoed Wail pierced the Skies,  
To Earth her bended Forehead bowed,  
The Tears unbounded from her Eyes,  
As Waters from her Sluices, flowed.   

But soon as Thou her Lord returned,  
Her Head is reared, her Eyes are dried,  
She smiles as WILLIAM ne'er had mourned,  
She looks as MARY ne'er had died.   

That Freedom which all Sorrows claim  
She does for Thy Content resign:  
Her Piety itself would blame,  
If Her Regrets should waken Thine.   

Dissembling Ease, and forcing Joy,  
She begs her Lord his Tears to dry:  
Did BELGIA ere her prayers employ,  
And ORANGE stand regardless by?   

To cure Thy Woes She shows thy Fame,  
Lest the great Mourner should forget  
That all the Race whence ORANGE came,  
Made Virtue triumph over Fate.   

WILLIAM his country's 'Cause could fight,  
And with His Blood its Freedom Seal:  
MAURICE and HENRY guard that Right  
For which their pious Father fell.   

A second WILLIAM's Bloom could tell  
How Heroes rise, how Patriots set:  
As Theirs did Others Deeds excel,  
Excelling Theirs be Thine complete.   

The last fair Instance Thou must give  
Whence NASSAU's Virtue can be tried;  
And show the World that Thou canst live  
As glorious as Thy MARY died.   

That Thou canst live for BELGIA's sake,  
Pierced by her Griefs forget Thy own;  
New Toils ●●dure, new Conquests make  
To give her Ease, though Thou hast None.   

To keep from treacherous Foes Her store,  
Tho' all Thy Wealth be robbed by Death;  
To vanquish, though She lives no more  
Whose Hands prepared the Victor's Wreath.   

Oh, could Thy Griefs obdurate prove  
To BELGIA's Cries, to BRITAIN's Fears,  
Yet let them yield to MARY's Love,  
To NASSAU's Glory joined in Her's.   

If MARY could so well command,  
It was by long obeying Thee;  
Her Sceptre, guided by Thy Hand,  
Preserved the Isles and ruled the Sea.   

But oh! 'twas little that Her Life  
Thy Fame o'er Earth and Water bears,  
In Death 'twas worthy WILLIAM's Wife  
To Fix His Name amidst the Stars.   

Beyond where Matter moves, or Place  
Receives its Forms, Thy Virtues roll:  
From MARY's Glories Angels trace  
The Beauties of Her Part'ners Soul.   

Wise Fate, which does its Heaven decree  
To Heroes, when They yield their breath,  
Hastens Thy Triumphs, Half of Thee  
Is deified before Thy Death.   

And to Thy Fame alone 'tis given  
Unbounded through all Worlds to go,  
While MARY reigns a Saint in Heaven,  
And Thou a Demi-God below.   
FINIS.